


The Right Notes

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, PWP, Red Pants Monday, Sherlock writes songs for John, fluffy sex, just some causal afternoon sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 05:57:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is just a really quick little PWP that I posted on Tumblr with no editing or anything for Red Pants Monday. Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Right Notes

“You’re home early,” Sherlock remarks, setting down his violin as John enters the flat.

“Yeah, they didn’t need me. Not much to do be done.” John hangs up his jacket and turns towards Sherlock, nodding down at the music stand on which Sherlock has a notebook set up. “Composing?”

Sherlock shrugs, adding a note to the page. “It’s not much.”

John moves closer, peering around Sherlock’s shoulder at the notebook. “It looks complicated. Didn’t Lestrade send you a case?”

“Solved it two hours ago. It was the sister. Boring.”

“Oh.” John’s arms snake around Sherlock’s waist, his warm body pressing up against Sherlock’s. He kisses the back of Sherlock’s neck. His hair, damp from the rain, tickles Sherlock’s skin. “Any grisly acquisitions I should know about before I open the fridge?

Sherlock relaxes somewhat into John’s embrace, trying not to let the proximity derail his concentration too much. He makes another note on the score, playing the melody in his head. “There may be a few hands on the top shelf.” He pauses. “Not that there’s any chance of you encountering those.”

“Oi!” John says, his voice warm, and lifts a hand to cuff Sherlock on the side of the head. Sherlock intercepts the arm, spinning around and pinning both of John’s arms to his sides. He smirks down at the shorter man and wriggles closer to wrap his arms firmly around John, trapping him.

“John,” he says, in mock seriousness. “I’m trying to think.”

John chuckles, the exhalation ghosting over Sherlock’s clavicle. Then he moves, twisting Sherlock’s arms up and propelling them towards the wall. Sherlock finds himself with his back against it, his arms held above his head and John grinning at him impishly.

“You forget I’ve had combat training,” John says, flexing his hands around Sherlock’s wrists.

“No,” Sherlock murmurs, suddenly a bit breathless as his body takes notice of their position. He lets his eyes wander over John’s form, lingering at the strip of flesh the jumper is currently failing to cover above John’s waistband. “I wouldn’t say that is something I’ve forgotten.” He moves his head lower so that his lips brush against John’s cheek. “Captain.”

John’s breathes out slowly and ducks his head, pressing a kiss to the hollow of Sherlock’s throat. He stays there for a moment, laving and suckling until the feeling of his warm, wet tongue pressing against the skin is nearly too much for Sherlock. Then he lets go of Sherlock’s hands and begins to unbutton Sherlock’s silk shirt, leaving a warm trail of kisses down Sherlock’s torso as more of it is revealed. At the bottom he pauses, breathing wetly just above Sherlock’s crotch while Sherlock squirms above him. Finally Sherlock tugs on his hair, pulling him back up and pushing him towards the sofa with a growl.

“You’re overdressed,” Sherlock says, his voice husky. John licks his lips, looking up at Sherlock cheekily.

“Impatient, are we?” He asks. Sherlock narrows his eyes in return and presses John against the arm of the sofa, pulling on the jumper until John lifts his arms obediently and allows Sherlock to divest him of it and the cotton vest beneath.

Sherlock looks down at John’s muscular abdomen, humming in appreciation. He dips his head and nibbles a bit below John’s collarbone, pressing his face against the skin and inhaling John’s unique scent. John gasps as Sherlock presses an open-mouthed kiss to his nipple, scraping his teeth ever so lightly against it. The doctor’s hands spasm where they are gripping Sherlock’s hips, and Sherlock groans, running his own hands down John’s body and slipping a couple of fingers below the waistband of his trousers.

They undo each other’s belts, Sherlock taking a moment longer than John as he fumbles with the clasp. John palms him gently through his trousers and Sherlock whimpers before he can stop himself. His cock is painfully hard, and he attacks John’s trousers with renewed fervor, tugging them down and pulling off John’s shoes and socks in the process. The bundle is abandoned on the floor as Sherlock drinks in the sight of John sitting on the arm of the sofa in just his red pants, his thick cock straining against them and leaving a growing damp spot.

Sherlock reaches his long fingers down and lightly strokes John’s balls, causing John to shiver and buck his hips. Sherlock rapidly strips himself down, tossing his own pants on top of the pile of clothes. He wraps his arms around John and presses their bodies together, reaching a hand between them to tease John through the red pants.

John bites out his name through clenched teeth and retaliates by slipping a hand down and stroking Sherlock’s perineum. While Sherlock is distracted, John slips the red pants off and tosses them aside.

“Sneaky,” Sherlock rumbles, pressing against John’s now naked body. John attempts a response, but is interrupted by the motion of Sherlock’s hips rocking against his. He moans instead, and Sherlock tugs him closer, wrapping one leg around John’s as he ruts hard against him. Their cocks slide together and they both gasp, Sherlock whimpering John’s name and increasing the speed.

“Sherlock,” John gasps. He reaches a hand up and licks it, wrapping it around both of them and starting to pump to the same rhythm. Sherlock can feel his orgasm building, and he groans, practically on top of John by now.

“Yes, come on, Sherlock,” John says, murmuring in his ear. Sherlock thrusts once, twice, and then freezes, John’s hand working him through it as he paints ribbons of white across John’s torso. It’s only a second before John is coming as well, his head thrown back and his cock pulsing against Sherlock’s skin.

They lie there, breathless, for a moment until John reaches over and snags the red pants to clean them both up. Then Sherlock tumbles them gracelessly off the arm of the sofa and onto the more comfortable part of it, squirming closer to John’s warm body. John laughs softly and tugs Sherlock into his arms, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s head.

Sherlock thinks about the song he’d been writing and sighs, realizing he’s never going to be able to play it without his mind straying to the feeling of John’s skin against his. If he wants to finish the composition, he’ll have to work through an uncomfortable state of arousal.

John’s hand brushes over his back. “What are you thinking about?”

“The song,” Sherlock says, his lips brushing against John’s throat. “I won’t be able to work on it without thinking of this.”

Sherlock feels John’s light chuckle reverberating through his body. “So sorry,” John says, sounding quite pleased with himself.

Sherlock hums, and wiggles up so he has access to John’s lips. He kisses them lazily, basking in the sensation for a moment. “Well,” he says, interrupting himself to press another kiss to John’s smiling mouth. “It was a song for you anyway, so I suppose it’s all right that you’ve corrupted it.” Then he ducks his head again and stays there, kissing John, while daylight slowly fades to dusk.


End file.
